Makin My Way for Us
by rommel9
Summary: Just when it seemed like the only way of life Mason Palmer knew was gone, he's given the chance at a new one. An unfamiliar, yet promising one. Turned out by those who he considered comrades, Mason must now make his way from the Capital Wasteland to the Mojave Wasteland to begin again. Thousands of miles away, the courier, Dixie, finds herself caught in a fight that's not hers.
1. Rise from the Ashes

First story I've written in a while. The first chapter isn't the best, at least in my opinion, but I hope you enjoy.

This story will start in the Capital Wasteland and move to the Mojave, along with a few other places along the way.

**Note**: New Vegas takes place a few years after the events of Fallout 3. However, they will be taking place a few months afterwards in this story.

The first chapter is short, simply to set the stage and open it up. I hope you all enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

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Darkness. That was all he could see, darkness. Buried under the tons of rubble that had once been Raven Rock, all the lone man could make out were the smooth, stone walls of what had been one of many escape tunnels spread throughout the now destroyed military installation. The prewar emergency lights in the tunnel had barely given off any light when he had first dived through the hatch, moments before the blast, but now the loner found himself wanting those dull bulbs to be lit once more.

"God all mighty," he groaned, trying to readjust himself. He'd been thrown under a small pile of rubble, but nothing too major, it seemed. "Those blasted Wastelanders will pay for this," he told himself, fishing in his pants pockets for anything remotely useful. His fingers found and instantly wrapped themselves around a metallic object in his left pocket: a lighter.

Giving no thought as to how or why he had the lighter, the lone man flicked open the zippo and worked the igniter. The generous flame finally shed light on his situation, which could have been much better. The hatch, or where the hatch used to be, was now covered in heavy chunks of concrete and steel. With no means of returning to the interior of the Enclave base, attention was turned to the length of the tunnel that would lead to the Capital Wasteland. It was far better off, but not by much. He would definitely be digging through some piles of debris if he was to make it out alive.

"And here I was, hoping I would get to have a relaxing day off," he muttered to himself, crawling over the concrete and rock.

It was hard going, to say the least. What normally would have taken only a few minutes, it took the man a few hours to get within sight of the steel exit door. He'd no idea how long he had been down in that tunnel, only that he had dived into it at around four in the afternoon. That didn't matter at the moment, though, as he shoved himself through the last pile of rubble, doing his best not to stop for fear of becoming stuck.

"Finally," he breathed, putting the lighter back into his pocket. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he put what strength he had remaining in turning the aged lock, one similar to those found on naval ships. After a few hard turns, the lock spun easily, the steel door finally swinging open.

The rush of fresh air hit the male like a wave of relief as he almost ran into the cool, dark night of the Capital Wasteland. He fell to his knees for a few moments, breathing in the oxygen that tasted of dirt, smoke, and radiation. The silence of the outdoors was bliss compared to the silence of the nearly collapsed escape tunnel: the sound of the wind lightly blowing was music to his ears.

The music was interrupted all too soon, as the sound of approaching footsteps reached the Enclave member who had just escaped. His head instantly turned in the direction of the sound, the footsteps growing closer. The light of a flashlight not too far off grew brighter and brighter, its owner the source of the footsteps. Voices were heard coming from somewhere nearby, as well.

"Initiate Harding, what are you doing?" a woman called.

"I thought I heard something, Sergeant," replied the approaching figure. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"Make it quick. I want to get back to camp and prepare it for when the Paladin arrive in the morning!"

'_They must be Brotherhood of Steel,' _the newly escaped Enclave member thought to himself. His hand instantly went to his side, but he found that he was without a pistol. His duty belt had been in his locker, which was now buried under a mountain. _'Shit, shit, shit… Wait.'_

Thinking on the spot, he quickly scrambled back towards the tunnel exit, where he grabbed up a chunk of concrete before pulling the steel door even farther out into the night. Hiding between the inch thick steel of the door and the rocky side of the mountain, he waited in silence for his prey to approach, melee weapon in hand.

"What the hell?" Initiate Harding said in surprise, aiming his assault rifle mounted flashlight toward the opening in the side of Raven Rock. Without considering what he was doing, the Brotherhood member approached the doorway without a second though, caution thrown in the wind. Little did he know, he was on the Enclave's "No Trespassers" list that night…

Seeing that Harding was wearing recon armor without a helmet, and not power armor, the man behind the door slid from his hiding place as silently as possible. Quietly and quickly, the Enclave man took a position just behind the unsuspecting Brotherhood member.

"Oi, Susie," he whispered.

"My name's not- "

Before he could clarify what his name really was, Initiate Harding found himself with a faceful of concrete as his Enclave assassin smashed the makeshift weapon into his face. The Brotherhood soldier spun around as he fell to the ground, his rifle being tossed away from him. His attacker quickly jumped on top of him, elbow against his throat.

"Talk," the Enclave hissed at him. "Who did this?"

"L-Lone Wanderer," gagged Harding, coughing up blood as he spoke. He struggled to open his watering and bloody eyes, but he managed to do so. The light from his rifle's flashlight showed him who was attacking him, and it was not someone he was expecting.

Sitting atop him was a male in his late teens, no more than nineteen, Harding guessed. The teen's white skin was covered in dirt, scrapes, and blood, both of theirs. His dark hazel eyes drilled like bullets into Harding's blue ones, while his buzz cut black hair held traces of dried blood. The look he gave Harding was fierce and bloodthirsty.

"Lone Wanderer? That bloody Vault Dweller?" the teen drawled, his accent nothing like that of a local's.

"Wh-who…?"

"Shut up, I'm asking the questions," the teen growled quietly, shoving his elbow a bit deeper into Harding's throat. "Where's the Lone Wanderer based at? Rivet City? Megaton?" The Enclave had been trying to found out where the Lone Wanderer was basing himself, but he seemed to move around constantly.

"Mega… M-Megaton," Harding coughed out, gasping for air. His vision was beginning to blur from lack of oxygen.

"Thanks," the Enclave teen spat, finally standing. Harding gasped and hacked up even more blood as he gulped for air. He hardly noticed his assailant picking up the assault rifle that was across from them.

"An AK47. A Russian made one, too." He admired the solid wood stock before removing the magazine to check the number of rounds. "Oh, and a full magazine? How nice of you," he grinned, bringing the Kalashnikov to his shoulder, barrel pointed towards Harding's head. Harding scrambled across the floor towards the exit, panicking. He tried to yell for the other Brotherhood members who were just around the corner of the mountain, but he was still breathless.

"None of that," the teen chided, whacking the Brotherhood soldier in the back with the wooden stock. Harding went limp, the wind knocked out of him again. His vision was clouding at this point, but he was still able to make out the teen as he kneeled in front of the soldier.

"Now that I've no use for your ass, I might as well be the polite man I am and answer your question," he drawled slowly and calmly. There was that accent, again.

"My name is Palmer. Mason Palmer," he finally answered, reaching back to fish through his victim's supply pack and belt. "Nice pack. Mind if I borrow it?" he asked with a chuckle, grabbing the spare magazines from Harding's belt, as well. "I was to be a future Enclave soldier, like my father, but I suppose those dreams are to be put on hold for the time being, eh?"

It was at this point Harding's name could be heard being shouted by the other members of the Brotherhood of Steel patrol. Mason sighed in annoyance, knowing that his time was short. Hoisting the pack onto his back, the teen used his booted foot to roll the man below him over.

"Sorry to run… Harding, was it? But I've some business to attend to. The only reason I haven't killed you yet is because your lucky my father wasn't here and caught in the blast," he grunted, kicking Harding in the sides. Despite this, Mason could see a bit of relief on the man's bloodied face. A slight scowl came across his own at the sight.

"However," he added, making his way in the opposite direction of the voices calling for Harding. He silently turned off the barrel mounted flashlight. "I can't take you prisoner, as there's no prison to hold you in, right?"

Just before Harding could yell for help or beg for his life, a shot rang out in the night. This sent the Brotherhood of Steel soldiers nearby running towards where Harding had last been seen heading. When they arrived, they found their comrade dead, a single round to the face. On the ground not far from his body was a shell casing and boot prints, leading into the night.

"Sergeant Mercia," shall we pursue?" a power armored Brotherhood soldier asked, leaning down to inspect the tracks.

"No," the equally armored Sergeant ordered, kneeling next to the body before the squad of Brotherhood. "It's too dark. We can barely see with our helmet lights. We'll send out scouts in the morning. For now, we make camp. I'll be damned if I let some Enclave sonofabitch catch us out in the night."

Little did the squad of Brotherhood of Steel members realize, they were the only ones who would have come close to catching their friend's killer, as he was watching them from only a few dozen yards away behind a pile of rocks.

"Don't worry, Sergeant," Mason whispered to himself. "You and your friends are safe and will live… for now."

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Reviews appreciated!


	2. Down with the Flames, Up with the Smoke

As the sun rose over the Capital Wasteland and the smoldering ruin that was once Raven Rock, the lone Enclave member that was Mason Palmer watched the Brotherhood of Steel patrol from the night before from afar. He'd found a pair of binoculars in the pack he'd taken from the long dead Harding and was putting them to good use.

"There's more of them than I thought," Mason whispered to himself. It was as if more had arrived in the night while he had slept under a piece of sheet metal, nestled into the rock face for cover. He mentally slapped himself for not paying better attention in the night, no matter how happy he'd been to catch some shuteye.

A few hundred yards away, nearly ten Brotherhood of Steel soldiers in power armor were milling about, some considering going closer to one of the still smoking entrances to the former Enclave base. Others were keeping an eye on the perimeter of their camp, fearful of further attacks by the person who had killed Harding in the night.

"So you and your squad heard the report of a rifle and then found the body of Initiate Harding. Correct, Sergeant?" The Paladin that had arrived early in the morning with a Brotherhood patrol had been questioning Sergeant Mercia since their arrival.

"Yes, sir," the lower ranked Brotherhood member answered, her voice filled with shame. "His body was near what we assume was the exit of an escape tunnel. We found footprints, but I thought it best not to follow them due to the lateness of the hour."

"It would seem, then, that the evidence points towards an Enclave member being the killer in this situation," the Paladin stated. A nearby Knight on patrol mumbled "No shit," under his breath.

While the Paladin and Mercia discussed their next move, Mason had decided it best to not stick around for too long. Tossing the binoculars into the pack, the teen hefted it onto his back before grabbing up his Kalashnikov and heading East. He wasn't exactly sure where he was going, only that he was going to do his best to find his father, which meant heading to Project Purity… Which was on the other side of the bloody wasteland.

"Fuck me with a rusty iron pole," grumbled Mason as he checked the worn out paper map of the Capital Wasteland. With the route he'd have to travel to get to the Jefferson Memorial, it would take the teen nearly two days to reach his destination on foot and alone. Maybe even three days, depending on the obstacles he was sure to encounter. The only thing that kept the teen going despite this was the fact that his father was there.

Mason Palmer's father was a Lieutenant in the Enclave and had raised the teen for part of his life ever since his mother had passed and he had become old enough to live at the Enclave installation. Mason regarded Lieutenant Palmer with the utmost respect and strived to live up to his father's expectations. That was one of the few reasons why the teen even wanted to join the Enclave in the first place. Otherwise, he'd sooner turn to a life of being a raider than following the prewar ideals and ideology of the Enclave.

Mason had been walking for a number of hours without realizing it, having been lost in his thoughts. The only thing that brought him back to reality was the sound of what seemed to be a cowbell ringing somewhere not too far off.

_"Brahmin?"_ he wondered, dropping to the ground, crawling up behind a fallen tree. He brought the Russian made assault rifle to his shoulder and let it rest on the rotting tree to steady his aim.

A few moments later, a brahmin laden with cargo came into view over a small hill, followed by a fairly large group consisting of four armed men and another six men and women. The latter six having slave collars around their necks. The four slavers were armed with three R91 assault rifles and one 10mm pistol, the sidearm being carried by a man in an old duster. The one in the duster was obviously the leader of the group, judging by how he seemed to order the armed guards to keep tabs on their brahmin and slaves.

With the direction they were travelling, they'd be on top of Mason soon, and that would easily cause problems. Weighing his options, the teen decided that it'd be best to avoid getting into a fight he couldn't win, even if slavers weren't his favorite group to deal with. Quick as he could, he rubbed some dirt and dust on himself to make it seem like he'd been out in the wastes for quite some time, and not fresh out of a prewar military base with all the amenities of a hotel.

"Howdy there, gents," called Mason as he stood, holding his AK47 above his head. The men armed with the R91s answered by swinging their barrels in his direction. The man with the pistol on his hip, however, lazily waved his hand.

"How's it goin, stranger?" the leader of the group called back, his small caravan stopping.

"Where y'all headin, if ya don't mind my asking?" Mason asked, slowly closing the dozen or so yard gap between them. He stopped just shy of three yards, maintaining eye contact with the man in the duster.

"Paradise Falls, friend," he replied with a nod. "Mind if I ask what you're doing so far out this way and with so little gear?" He motioned with his hand towards Mason's clothing: a worn pair of combat fatigues, black t-shirt, and boots. No hat, sunglasses, pistol belt.

"When the Brotherhood of Steel wants something you've got, you don't usually turn them away when they've got enough firepower to cut down a small army," Mason lied.

"Those Brotherhood assholes at it again, eh?" the duster man replied sympathetically, earning a nod from the stranger his group had happened across. "But that doesn't answer my question about why you're out this far, though."

"Alright you caught me," Mason answered, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. He put on his best Chinese impression, too. "I am Chinese spy sent to spy on dirty Americans."

This earned a laugh from the slavers, the one in the duster laughing the hardest of the men. "What's your name, stranger?" he choked out in between fits of laughter.

"Mason Palmer, mate. Yours?"

"David Andrews, at your service," the man in the duster replied, sketching a two finger salute to his eyebrow. "Care to join us on our way to Paradise Falls? So long as you don't mind helping us keep an eye on the merchandise," he added, gesturing to the slaves that had remained silent.

"Pleasure to meet you, David." Mason offered his hand to David and the other three men, whom he learned were named Skylar, Troy, and Bill. "I'd be more than happy to join y'all, as a matter of fact."

"Good to hear. In that case, take rear guard with Troy, will ya?" David ordered as the group began to move once more. Mason nodded and fell in behind the group with one of the R91 toting slavers, the six slaves between them and the other three armed men.

The next few hours of hiking were slow due to the speed of the caravan's brahmin, but it was nice to be travelling with a group rather than alone, Mason noted mentally. Over the course of the hike, Mason let it slip that he was currently enroute to Megaton while searching for someone who'd crossed him. He didn't say much more, telling them it wasn't worth talking about for the moment.

"He steal away your girl?" Troy asked, prodding a slave with his rifle barrel to encourage him to keep up.

"So when are we going to make camp for the night, David?" Mason asked, dodging the question.

"We've no need to make camp, Mason," David said over his shoulder. "We're almost to the Falls, see?" he said, pointing in the distance. Sure enough, there was the statue of a giant man holding an equally massive ice cream cone.

"I must have lost track of time," Mason confessed, looking up at the position of the sun for the first time all day. It was at the position in the sky that meant it was late afternoon, only a handful of hours before night would begin to fall. "We made good time despite the slow pace."

"We usually do," said Bill, who had his assault rifle slung across his back at this point.

As the group made its way to the entrance of the notorious slave town, the guards gave their fellow slavers a wave. As they passed by the sandbag emplacements, an African American slaver noticed Mason.

"Hold it, who are you?" he challenged, pointing his combat shotgun towards the unknown member of the slaving party.

"Easy, Grouse," called David. "Just a stray we picked up on the way in. Damn Brotherhood stripped him of most of his gear. He's good, otherwise he'd either be dead or on the way to the pens."

"If you say so, David," the guard named Grouse answered, lowering his scattergun. "If he hates the Brotherhood and that Saint of the Wasteland Lone Wanderer, he's fine by me."

"Y'all have something against that Lone Wanderer fuck, too?" Mason quickly asked, interest peaked.

"Hell yeah, man," Grouse answered. "He's fucked with our slaving parties out in the field so much, we're barely turning a profit right now. And with him having the support of the Brotherhood of Steel, there's not much we can do against the piece of shit."

"Glad I'm not the only one who hates the fucker, then," Mason agreed.

"What's your beef with him?" David asked as the party made its way through the gate and into Paradise Falls proper. The brahmin was taken by a slave to the brahmin pens, while the fresh slaves were taken by Bill, Skylar, and Troy to the slave pens.

"I'm like y'all. He's made it hard to turn a profit in certain businesses," he told the slaver, spitting in the dirt. Damn, how stupid were these slavers? Mason was having no problem lying through his teeth to them if it meant furthering his own agenda.

"Well, here's hopin ya get the bastard. He's crossed a lot of us, too," David sympathized. "Tell ya what, stay here tonight, no charge. Get your gear taken care of over at Lock and Load. Tell Pronto that I sent ya over and he'll give ya a good deal." The slaver gave the stray from the wastes a pat on the back.

"Stay for a day or two, even. We're always lookin for new guards and slavers," he offered.

"Thanks, David," Mason nodded in thanks. "I'll probably be out of here with the next supply caravan that passes through on its way to Megaton, though."

With a shrug, David turned to head to the bar, waving over his shoulder. "Offer stands, mate. Keep it real." Returning the lazy wave, Mason headed towards the building that housed the equipment shop dubbed 'Lock and Load.' The teen entered through the dirty glass doors before he approached the counter where a bored looking man in a jumpsuit was busy fiddling with a 10mm submachine gun.

"We're closed for the night," Pronto sighed.

"I won't be long," Mason said, dropping his duffle on the floor. "David said you could help me out."

"God damn it," the weaponsmith muttered. "Alright, but only because I owe him. You needs guns? I got guns. You need armor? I got that, too," he said, shoving his work to the side.

"I've stuff to trade and or sell," Mason replied, dumping the contents of the duffel on the counter.

"Not too much here," Pronto grunted, rummaging through the contents of the sack of the deceased Brotherhood soldier. "What are you lookin to get? Ammo, armor, guns?"

"Got any spare magazines for an AK47?" Mason asked, gesturing to the weapon he had slung across his shoulder. "Ammo, too."

"A few, yeah." The weapons merchant pulled two full magazines from behind the counter. "If you get these, that'll leave you with just enough caps for a combat belt to hold the mags, along with a pair of sunglasses and a hat," he offered, setting the belt and magazines on the counter between them. There were a number of different hats in a crate sitting atop the end of the counter.

"I suppose that's fine," Mason agreed, donning the belt and sliding the magazines into their pouches. He pulled the magazines he'd already had from his bag and added them to the belt. He then walked over to the hat crate and began to rummage through the headgear.

"Any idea when the next caravan will be through here?" Mason asked, pulling a camouflage ball cap from the crate.

"Should be one in tomorrow early in the day like usual," Pronto said with a yawn. "Now, if you're finished, mind gettin out? I'm ready to head to bed."

"Suppose so," the teen replied, adjusting the camo hat so it would sit atop his head comfortably. He grabbed up a pair of Aviator's sunglasses, tucking them into a spare pocket. "Thanks," he added, snagging up his now lighter bag and heading for the door. "Night."

As Mason left the weapon and armor shop, he noticed that the sun had set in the time he'd been inside. Prewar lights buzzed overhead as he headed towards what were the slaver barracks. He exchanged a few friendly nods as he entered, waving to David and his crew who were playing a game of pool, too. He almost went over to join them, but his body told him to head up the stairs to what was left of the second floor to where the beds were.

Finding an empty bed off in a dark corner, the teen slid his belongings under the rusting bed frame, leaning his rifle near the head of the bed where it could easily be accessed should he need it. As he hung his hat on a nail sticking out of the wall and began to take off his boots, a thought crossed his mind. A thought that he'd been suppressing since he had seen the Brotherhood outside of Raven Rock.

_"What if they've taken Project Purity?" _The thought flashed through his mind as he slid his right boot off his foot. _"What if… What if they're all dead? What if he's… "_

"No," he muttered to himself. "Impossible. They only destroyed Raven Rock because they got lucky. They couldn't possibly take the Jefferson Memorial, especially with the Enclave's superiority in terms of weapons," he continued on, attempting to sooth his uneasiness. He thought of all the heavily armed and armored Enclave troops stationed at Project Purity, and of the Vertibirds that could easily rain Hell upon their enemies.

"Completely impossible," he said once more, laying down atop the aged mattress. As he slowly fell into a much needed sleep, Mason Palmer had no idea that the Lone Wanderer and the Brotherhood of Steel were preparing for the final battle of the Jefferson Memorial at that exact moment.

It was late morning, almost noon, when Mason awoke to what sounded like an angry mob just outside the guard barracks. The teen jolted from the prewar mattress and grabbed up his rifle, shouldering it as he scanned the room. All he saw were the dozen or so beds, some showing that they had recently been occupied. He perked his ears, listening to the sounds coming from outside.

"It doesn't sound like a fight… No gunfire," he muttered, sitting back on the bed. Doing his best to pull his boots on quickly, Mason slung the rifle over his shoulder as he made his way down the stairs and out the door into the wasteland. The sun blinded him as he left the barracks, his hands pulling the Aviator sunglasses from his pocket and placing them over his eyes and under his cap.

When his vision finally cleared, the sight that met his eyes was an odd one. It seemed like all the slavers of Paradise Falls were gathered around a table with a radio and a set of large, prewar speakers sitting atop it. Mason pushed his way to the front of the crowd, where he came to stand just in front of the radio table.

"What's going on?" Mason asked no one in particular.

"Listen," someone next to him said, gesturing to the radio. Mason looked to the prewar technology and listened in as the voice of the notorious radio host Three Dog flowed through the aging speakers.

"That's right, my Children of the Wasteland, the battle is on!" the radio personality yelled gleefully. "The Brotherhood of Steel are out there bringing the Good Fight to those devils in power armor, the Enclave! As I sit here in the ruins of D.C., Brotherhood troops are pushing their way towards Project Purity. In fact, the battle could very well be over at this point, seeing as how my information isn't the most up to the minute! Things are lookin up for us, children!"

Mason froze in place, eyes widening in terror and shock. His blood ran cold, his hands balling into fists as he stared at the radio. Around him, the slavers were yelling, unsure of how such a battle would affect them: both the Enclave and Brotherhood of Steel shunned them for their line of work, as well as wanting to end their careers and lives. The teen paid little attention to them, as he only cared at the moment for his father. His mind raced as he tried to think of what to do. Should he try and make it to Project Purity and try to find or save his father?

"_I need to go," _Mason thought, making his way back into the barracks.

No one paid him any mind, as the group of slavers continued to yell and squabble over the current events taking place across the Wasteland. The teen hastily fastened his combat belt around his waist, checking the magazines for his rifle before hefting his pack onto his back. He was in and out of the barracks in the space of five minutes, heading right for the gate. He was just about to make his way out when a hand landed on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

"Where ya headed, Mason?" The face of the slaver David came into view as the teen turned around to see who owned the hand currently on his shoulder. "Thought you were going to wait to travel with one of the caravans?"

"I decided that I'd be able to move faster on my own," lied Mason. "I'll be perfectly fine, no worries."

"I'd think you'd best wait," David urged, pulling on the younger man's shoulder, trying to bring him farther back into Paradise Falls.

"I said I'd be fine, damn it," Mason swore, jerking away from the grip of the slaver. David reared his hand back, readying himself to smack the teen out of anger, but stopped dead when the barrel of a Kalashnikov was leveled at his face. Mason had drawn the rifle out of instinct, not realizing what he was doing until he already had the man at gun point.

"What do you think you're doing, kid?"

"I'm leaving, that's what." Mason slowly backed towards the gate, barrel still trained on the head of the slaver. The Enclave teenager thanked the powers that be that none of the other slavers were paying any attention to what was going on a mere fifty yards from them. "None of your business, anyway," he added.

"I yell, and you're dead," threatened David. "I don't know why you're acting like this, but it's well known that it's not a good idea to cross Paradise Falls."

"You yell and you're dead," countered Mason, now standing just outside the gate. "From where I'm standing, I can kill you and then spray down the crowd of your friends. More than enough time to get away while they try and figure out what the Hell happened."

"You son of a bitch," growled the slaver.

"Just remember this, David," Mason said, slowly moving to leave the slaver settlement for good. "The Enclave doesn't forget enemies."

Leaving the slaver dumbstruck and seething with anger, Mason slung his rifle back over his shoulder and ran as fast as he could. He paid no mind to Grouse, who was still sitting a ways away from the gate on guard duty. The teen continued to run as long as he could, not stopping till he was a good mile or so away from the slaver encampment. After drinking from the bottle of water he had found in the pack he'd looted from the Brotherhood of Steel soldier, Mason continued to run.

Finally, exhaustion caught up with him and he slowed to a walk before finally stopping all together. Finding a nearby tree, Mason dropped to the ground, sitting with his back against the rotting oak for support as he caught his breath. He opened his pack, rummaging around for the map of the Capital Wasteland. The aged paper was soon unfolded across his lap as he scanned it and looked around, doing his best to find out where he was at the moment.

"Big Town?" he wheezed, still catching his breath after the long period of running. "Fuck me," he sighed, leaning his head back against the tree. He rolled his head from side to side, looking around until he could finally see the ramshackle shacks that that made up the so called "settlement" not too far in the distance. He had no plans of going to the second home of the children turned teenagers from Little Lamp Light, as he would probably end up shooting half of them out of annoyance. He remembered hearing from some of the Enclave soldiers who went on patrol that those who lived in Big Town were nothing but a bunch of annoying teenagers and young adults who still acted like kids.

"I've got to keep going," he told himself, getting to his feet. He pulled the rifle from his back and cradled it in his arms in a combat carry. "I've got to try and find him," he said, moving off at a jog.

It wasn't long before he was back at a steady run. He was thankful that he had been allowed to take part in Physical Training every morning with the rest of the Enclave soldiers at Raven Rock, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to keep going for so long.

As he ran, he would look upwards, as if hoping to see an Enclave Vertibird. However, his eyes were only met with the sight of a darkening sky. Storm clouds were rolling in, blocking out the sun and filling the air with the sounds of thunder and lightening. Mason swore to himself as the first drops of rain hit him.

"Gotta find shelter," he muttered. The last thing he needed at the moment was to be caught in a downpour of acid rain. Eyes scanning the area around him, he spotted one of the many prewar houses that still dotted the landscape of the Capital Wasteland. Wasting no time, the teen ran straight for the door, the rain beginning to come down in a torrent as his left hand wrenched open the entrance of the aged building.

Now, normally it wouldn't be such a problem for entering a random, abandoned house in the wasteland, especially considering that the original homeowners were easily long dead, their remains long decayed and buried somewhere in an unmarked grave. However, it can be a problem to enter such a building when it's being occupied by a squad of power armored, plasma rifle wielding soldiers. Such was the issue that Mason was faced with as he nearly fell through the door, slamming it behind him. It took him a few seconds to realize that he was not alone, but when he did, it was quite awkward.

"Uh… I've come to fix the plumbing?" he said as five plasma rifles were aimed in his direction. The green glow of the energy weapons was the only light in the living room at the moment, leaving Mason guessing as to what faction he was currently faced with. He knew they were wearing power armor by the hulking shapes that were less than the size of Super Mutants, but he was unable to tell if they were Enclave or Brotherhood.

"I take it we have a visitor, men?" came a voice from the kitchen. A light suddenly emerged from the doorway, growing brighter as the light source was carried into the living room. A man in a tan trenchcoat walked into the living room, a battery powered lantern in his hand, a 10mm pistol in the other. The light reveals the plasma rifle wielding men to be Enclave soldiers.

"Colonel Autumn!" Mason shouted, surprised and relieved to find allies in the middle of the wasteland. The Enclave officer looks at him for a few moments, racking his brain for whom the boy before him might be. It finally occurs to him.

"You're Lieutenant Palmer's boy, aren't you?" he asks, holstering his pistol as the teen nodded. "He's one of ours, boys," Autumn says to the soldiers in the room, some of whom had already lowered their weapons upon realising who it was that had barged into their temporary dwelling.

"Yes, sir," Mason replied, coming to attention and saluting. "I managed to survive the destruction of Raven Rock and was on my way to Project Purity when I heard of the Brotherhood assault on the Memorial."

"You were looking for you father, correct?" Colonel Autumn asks, moving to sit in an old and moldy armchair. He set the lantern on the coffee table, motioning for the power armored soldiers to go about their business. Two went up the stairs, probably to keep watch through the windows, while one went to scavenge through the kitchen and other ground floor rooms. The last two took up positions in the living room, one in each corner opposite the door.

"Yes, sir, I was," Mason answered, moving to sit on the couch near the Colonel's chair, only after being told to do so by the high ranking officer. "What happened, sir? Did we repel the Brotherhood attack? Is my father still…" Mason stopped before he could utter the words.

"I'm unsure of that, son," Autumn sighed, leaning back in the chair. "We lost a lot of good men, along with Project Purity. That damned Vault Dweller decided to let me live and the rest of us go free, despite the Brotherhood's wish to see us all killed… The fools."

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir," the teen said, a sense of uneasiness filling his stomach. He was about to press the matter of his father when one of the Enclave soldiers in the corner of the room spoke up.

"Your father's dead, Mason," the man said bluntly, his voice sounding alien like through his helmet's speaker. He approached the teenager, slinging his rifle onto his back where the magnetic locks secured it in place.

"Sergeant Wallis, you know of the Lieutenant's current status for certain?" Colonel Autumn asked, leaning forward slightly.

"Yes, Colonel," Wallis confirmed with a nod.

Mason fell back against the couch, dropping his own rifle onto the floor. His mouth was agape, eyes wide in shock. He sat there, unsure of what to say, if anything needed to be said. His mind raced, thoughts following no exact train of organization. However, all thoughts led back to the same answer: his father was dead. He now had no one to turn to. No family. No true friends. He was alone.

"How do you know for certain, Sergeant?" Autumn continued with his questioning.

"I was stationed with Lieutenant Palmer at the initial fortifications on the roadway leading to the Jefferson Memorial, sir. He ordered our platoon to fall back to the Memorial itself, as the Brotherhood advance was too much for us to handle alone due to the giant combat robot they were using." Sergeant Wallis took a moment to catch his breath before continuing on, shaking his head slightly as he did so.

"Just as they breached the last barrier and we were moving to take positions inside the Memorial, a sniper's bullet struck the Lieutenant in the head and killed him instantly. I'm unsure of where the shot came from, sir."

"Thank you, Sergeant," Autumn said, waving the noncommissioned officer back to his corner of the room. Before going back to his post, however, the Enclave soldier pulled an envelope from his combat belt and placed it on the couch next to Mason.

"Your father asked me to give it to you, should something happen to him." Despite his voice being filtered through a speaker in his helmet, there was an evident sadness in the voice of the battle hardened soldier. Mason's eyes slowly looked down to the envelope, one hand moving to pick it up as he muttered his thanks to the soldier who was now back in his corner of the living room.

Mason brought the envelope up to in front of his face where he could see where his father had written his name on the front. He wanted nothing more than to rip it open, to see what his father had written for him. Yet he could not find the strength to do so. All he could do was stare at it, silent and unmoving. This silence lasted for a few minutes before Colonel Autumn spoke.

"We will be heading to Adams Air Force to regroup with the rest of our forces that are stationed there, as well as those other survivors from Project Purity," Autumn told the teenager. "I suggest you consider finding a place to attempt to blend in with the locals, or either look into leaving the Capital Wasteland all together."

Mason's head shot up, staring at the Enclave officer that sat next to him.

"Sir?" Mason questioned, unsure of what the Colonel meant.

"Surely you didn't expect to join us, young man. We are short on resources, especially after the loss of both Raven Rock and Project Purity." Autumn spoke calmly and straight to the point. He did not attempt to sugarcoat the issue, seeing no reason to do so.

"What am I supposed to do then, Colonel Autumn?" Mason asked, his voice carrying a twinge of anger and annoyance. "Where am I supposed to go?"

"You could always return to your home, Mr. Palmer," the colonel replied, folding his hands in his lap. "You are originally from Georgia, if I remember correctly. Raised for the majority of your life there until your father had you brought here when your whore mother died."

"You shut your damned mouth about my mother," growled the Southerner. His voice carried his southern drawl as he saw no reason to try and keep it in check as his father had once asked of him.

"It's the truth, is it not?" Autumn pressed, raising an eyebrow. "Your father and her had a brief night of relations when he was passing through the town you were born in with a flight of Enclave Vertibirds, correct?"

Mason's hands twitched in anger as he considered grabbing up his rifle from the floor and using the butt of it to smash the man's skull in. The only thing stopping him was a house full of power armored soldiers. All he could do was sit there on the couch and stare daggers at the colonel.

"Now, Mr. Palmer, I will allow you to stay the night here in this house with my men and I. Should you attempt to follow us in the morning back to Adams Air Force Base, or should you find yourself there at any point in the future, I will have you shot." Autumn stood as he spoke, stretching slightly.

A few hours later, Mason lay awake on the floor of the kitchen with a damp smelling blanket and pillow that had been found in a linen closet. He stared at the dark ceiling, cursing Colonel Autumn and the Enclave in his mind. He wanted nothing more than to kill that man, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to without finding himself on the business end of a plasma rifle.

_"Damn them, all," _he thought. _"Damn the Lone Wanderer, the Slavers of Paradise Falls, the Brotherhood of Steel, the Enclave, Colonel Autumn… Damn the entire Capital Wasteland."_

His hand wrapped around the still sealed envelope that was on the floor next to him. He hadn't opened it yet out of fear of losing another part of his father. At the same time, though, he was dying to know what his father had written for him.

Finally giving in, Mason reached into his pocket and pulled out the lighter that he had last used when escaping Raven Rock. Sitting on the kitchen floor with his back against the cabinets, the orphan used a butter knife he found on the countertop as a letter opener. From inside the envelope, Mason pulled a few sheets of folded paper. As he unfolded them, something fell to his lap.

Striking the lighter to life, he lifted what appeared to be a military style patch to his face. It was shaped like a shield and was crimson red with black piping around the edges. The symbol was one that Mason had never seen before: a pair of gold Ak47s were crossed like swords over what appeared to be an equally golden cargo ship, a very large one.

"What the hell is this," he whispered, turning the patch over in his hand. The back was blank, just empty crimson. He set the odd patch on his leg as he turned his attention to the papers that his father had written his last words to his son on.

_Dear Mason,_

_If you're reading this, then I'm dead, killed in combat for the glory of the Enclave and the United States of America. Do not mourn me, as I've done nothing to deserve it. I know I wasn't the best father, but I did what I could for the few, short years you were with me._

_If you haven't already been told, Colonel Autumn will more than likely not be allowing you to stay with the Enclave at Raven Rock. I knew that it would happen as soon as I either died or he found a way to separate you from me: he thought it made me soft to have family living with me. What the hell does he know, eh? I'll tell you this, son, if I could have, I'd have shot him myself._

_Anyway, I'm not going to fill this letter with a sappy goodbye. No, I'm writing this primarily so I can ensure you and our family live on. I won't beat around the bush, Mason: __You've still got family out there. You've got a sister._

Mason nearly dropped the letter. A sister? Why the hell didn't his father tell him before? How could he have a sister, though, and not know about it? He'd been raised by the people of his hometown in Georgia since he was a baby, his mother having died giving birth to him… He turned back to the paper before him, thirsting for answers.

_I know you're questioning why I didn't tell you sooner. Looking back, I'm not sure, either. Maybe I didn't want you running off without me to find her? I don't know… _

_ Your mother, Macy, gave birth to her when she had you. Twins. When I first arrived back in the Savannah wasteland, you were both two years old. I couldn't take you then, as you were both too young, and I knew when you were old enough to be brought to Raven Rock, I knew I couldn't bring your sister. So, I asked if the town would take care of her, raise her as the child of another. You were still raised along side, her, though. I'm sure you remember her, she was your best friend before I had you brought here when you were fifteen._

_ Last I heard, Dixie and those that raised her had moved out west. I managed to find out that she's been working as a courier for a company called Mojave Express. Don't look into how I found out, as there are people who'd try and call you on promises I made them to find out all I did… _

_Should you come across any of them, do me a favor and shoot them. _

_Your best way of making it that far is to make use of the patch you'll find with this letter. It's the company logo and patch of a trading company that's based out of… Well, not here in the Capital Wasteland. _

_I've scratched their back enough for them to owe me. Go to Rivet City. Wait there until their employees arrive by boat via the Potomac River. They'll be easy to identify., trust me. Find the one who speaks English and show him the patch. Tell him "34 helped determine 43, and 44 led to 47." They can help you get to California. From there, make your way to Nevada where the Mojave Express does most of its business. Try the city that used to be Las Vegas, first. I think it's known as New Vegas, now._

_This is my final wish, Mason. Find Dixie and bring our family back together. Tell her I'm sorry to both of you for not keeping us together through this Hell of a world._

_Don't forget that I love you, even if I was hard on you. I was hard and tough because I wanted you to be ready for all that life throws at you._

_With love,_

_Lieutenant Dixon Palmer_

_P.s._

_Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Fight for your family and the ones you love, no matter the costs and consequences. _

Mason read through the letter multiple times, taking it in slowly. It was a lot to soak up out of the blue. Never in his life would he have guessed that his best childhood friend was his sister. Hell, they didn't even look alike. Then again, he looked like his father, so it was only natural to assume she looked like their mother.

"Dixie Palmer," he muttered to himself. "My sister…" He dug deep into the back of his mind, remembering the girl who he'd grown up with. Blonde hair that went down past her shoulders to the middle of her back, emerald green eyes, and a smile that could tame a Deathclaw. Looking back, Mason had at one point had a crush on her, but now…

"God no, she's my sister!" he said, feeling slightly sick at the thought. "Good God, no… Last thing I need is to reinforce the stereotype of Southerners."

When Mason awoke the next morning, he found the house empty. Colonel Autumn and his squad of Enclave troops had left without waking him, which was no surprise. What was surprising was the fact that Mason had slept through the noise they surely would have made while leaving.

"Probably hoped some raiders would kill me in my sleep," the teen yawned, plopping down on the couch. He'd found a can of Pork N'Beans in the kitchen, as well as a can opener and a fork. He ate the cold meal with a slight grimace but was glad to have something to eat. He washed it down with a few sips of his remaining water, taking care to not waste it.

As he ate, he reread his father's letter, memorizing it to the last detail. He'd be damned if he forgot the last words and wishes of his father. Hell, the Lieutenant might even come back from the grave to kick his ass should he forget. Mason laughed at the thought.

"Bastard died doing what he loved," he grinned, gathering his belongings.

Stepping into the Capital Wasteland, Mason Palmer stretched his arms and legs in the warmth of the sun, his eyes and face shielded by his camouflage cap and sunglasses. The teen performed a few meager exercises, something to get the blood flowing and to keep him limber in the event he found himself in a tight spot.

Satisfied, he snatched up his rifle and pack from where he'd set them against the house and began his trek towards a nearby hilltop. Once there, he pulled his map of the wastes from his pocket. Looking from the map to his surroundings, he determined he was on the outskirts of what had once been the small community of Springvale. He could just make out the outline of the pile of scrap metal that made up the town of Megaton in the distance. He spat in the dirt as he knew he'd have to go there to link up with a group going to Rivet City. It would be suicide if he tried to make it there alone, even if the route was safer now than it had been in years.

"Lord, please keep everyone in that damned town from gettin on my nerves," Mason said to himself, heading towards the settlement. "I don't feel like burning an entire town down just because some fucker decides to set me off…"


End file.
